


thought the more that loved me, the more loved i'd be

by MissSpock



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU?, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Everything else is pure fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Season 1, Swearing, but mostly platonic family fluff, help i'm at the bottom of the trashcan and i can't get out, idek i just wrote it on a whim, literally that's all this is rated t for, lol actually i make no promises who knows, married victuuri, mentions of agape and eros, uh, uh i may have to add more character tags as this thing keeps happening, victuuri being dads, yuri needs love tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSpock/pseuds/MissSpock
Summary: "Oho," Victor's grinning mysteriously when he finally turns around. "So Yakov didn't tell you about it?" Annoyance spikes in him. He's going to punch Victor in the face. "No shit, Sherlock." Another look exchanged. Seriously, did they come all the way here just to make eyes at each other? "Spit it out already, dumbass." "Yurio," Victor put a hand over his chest, looking for all the world like Makkachin when begging for treats, "You wound me. Is this how you talk to your coach?" Yuri sputters. “What the--” “ Coaches,” Yuuri corrects, still beaming stupidly. “ --Fuck?”(The Season 2 AU no one asked for)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i hate everything omg this fandom dragged me in kicking and screaming

They announce Victor's official retirement, Yuuri's official retirement, and their upcoming nuptials at the same time. The reporter's absolutely floored, shock and elation mixing on her face when she realizes that this is undoubtedly the biggest scoop of the year. The press erupts in questions, and Phichit, on Yuuri's left, grabs the Japanese skater in a headlock and threatens in typical joking manner that he's expecting to fill the position of best man or he's disowning both of them, throwing a cheeky wink at the cameras.

 Yuri wrinkles his nose.

 Victor elbows him in the ribs, grinning in that disgustingly happy, flushed way that made Yuri want to puke. "What do you think, Yurio? Want to be my best man?"

 It's his turn to flush and he sputters, "What--Ew, no way! Why the fuck would I want to do that?"

 Victor just smiles knowingly.

 Yakov reaches over Yuri's head to grumble a quiet congratulations, while Celestino sweeps his student and former student into a bone-crushing group hug. Yuri himself is tugged into a group picture as Phichit conjures a selfie stick out of nowhere and even Yakov ends up in frame, lips pulling half up like he can't decide whether to smile or scowl.

 Phichit's fingers are flying across the phone screen and a second later Yuri's phone vibrates in his pocket. He sees the picture and notices the matching blushes on Victor and Yuuri's face, #victuuri and #weddingoftheyear and #fuckingfinally and others of the like stacked in paragraphs below.

 Within seconds, the hashtags are trending.

 Yuri swallows. As soon as the press conference is over, he makes an excuse and beelines for his room. He feels a headache coming on.  
  


 *  
  


The invitation comes through the mail.

 It's not a surprise, since it's been plastered all over news ever since that press conference after the Grand Prix, but it still feels weird to be staring at it, in physical form, holding the creamy cardstock between his hands and staring down at the shining silver lettering.

  _The honor of your presence is required at the marriage of_

_Katsuki Yuuri_

_And_

_Victor Nikiforov_

_On Saturday the 3rd of June 2017_

_At four o' clock in the afternoon_

_Hasetsu Castle_

 It's off season. He can go if he wants to. Yakov has received a similar invitation, and for all the old geezer disapproves of Victor running off to play coach, the end result is undeniable and he's sure to attend. Even if Yuri doesn't go, he has no valid excuse.

 But they have each other now. They don't need him.

 And he definitely doesn't need them.

 He doesn't tear the card up though. It sits on his bookshelf, glinting in its quiet way, reminding him.

 The months come and go and the wedding passes. Phichit's instagram blows up.

 They look so happy in the pictures that Yuri can't help but double tap.  
  


*

His grandfather takes him to watch the dancers when he’s very little.  The first time he falls on the ice he can feel his grandfather’s gaze on the back of his head and even though tears are gathering in his eyes he picks himself, and tries again.

His bones hurt that day, a pleasant humming ache like the waterfall beating down on his back now. The droplets of water fall into his eyes like the snow of an evening in Moscow, many years ago, and it hits him. That’s what it is. It’s his grandfather taking his hand, looking down and smiling and saying “ _you were the best out of all of them.”_ It’s him promising to do better, to be fine even if his mother’s not there, though he knows its untrue, though he falls and he breaks and he falls again.

_Selfless love._

In the end he knows that he can’t perform it because it doesn’t exist, not really.

But he hurls himself into practice that day like he does, so many years ago, and tries to imagine that his grandfather is watching him.  
  


*  
  


He falls out of the triple axel because mid rotation he notices two all too familiar figures at the side of the rink but there's no way--

 "Yurio!" Victor announces in that cheery, annoying way that Yuri definitely does not miss. Beside him, Yuuri is bundled up in as many layers as he can possibly put on, disappearing almost entirely under a pile of scarves, excepting the misty glasses on his nose.

 Yuri picks himself up and skates over to them, already scowling. "The hell are you two doing here? I thought you were on your honeymoon?" It’s not even three months since the wedding, and the two are retired. There’s no need for them to be here.

 "We are," Victor says, matter-of-factly.

 Yuuri struggles with the scarves but he's smiling shyly by the time he's tugged them down. "I wanted to see St. Petersburg."

 Yuri rolls his eyes at the other man's blush. Disgusting. Christ, they're already married. The least they can do is pull themselves together. "What are you doing in Moscow then?"

 Victor and Yuuri exchange glances.

 "Oho," Victor's grinning mysteriously when he finally turns around. "So Yakov  _didn't_ tell you about it?"

 Annoyance spikes in him. He's going to punch Victor in the face. "No shit, Sherlock."

 Another look exchanged. Seriously, did they come all the way here just to make eyes at each other?

 "Spit it out already, dumbass."

 "Yurio," Victor put a hand over his chest, looking for all the world like Makkachin when begging for treats, "You wound me. Is this how you talk to your coach?"

 Yuri sputters. “What the--”

 “ _Coaches,_ _”_ Yuuri corrects, still beaming stupidly.

 “ _\--Fuck?”_

*

 They drag him out to lunch.

 He thinks it’s a terrible idea and he’s right. They don’t tell him anything useful and spend the entire time cooing at each other. If he has to spend one more minute watching the couple whisper or play footsie under the table, he’s going to implode. Yuri can’t even fully enjoy the free food. His metabolism might be fast but the season’s beginning and Yakov would definitely make him stretch more to work off the excess carbs.

 Oh. Right. Not Yakov.

 “So let me get this right,” he interrupts in the middle of a pointless, if not strange conversation about the difference between seagulls in Russia and seagulls in Japan and the two men sitting across from him look up, blinking like they’re deer caught in the headlights. “You’re here, in Moscow, because you want to coach me this season.”

 “Well,” Victor looks mischievous, “The coaching is mostly Yuuri’s idea. I was just going to program something for you, since I didn’t do your full senior debut and I  _did_ promise. But Yuuri seems to think that you’d like to--”

 “I don’t need you,” Yuri interrupts, crossing his arms, glares stubbornly at the two of them.

“That hurts, Yurio--”

 “No,” Yuuri interrupts, meeting his eyes across the table. Victor's already beaming, grinning at his husband with so much blinding pride that Yuri wants to puke. " You don't. But we want to anyway.”

 Silence washes over the three of them.

Yuri considers what he wants – though perhaps it is in front of him. Katsuki Yuuri is in front of him. The world knows him as a one-time gold medalist at the Grand Prix, but Yuri knows that he's much more besides, a phoenix that rises from the ashes at the last possible second. This is what Yuri wants – to rise, to burn, to _blind_.

He wants – to win.

 “...Fine." He finally grumbles. "But I’m not paying the damn coaching fee unless I win, you hear me?”

 Victor’s grinning too wide and Yuuri is beaming again and he already regrets it, but he can't very well take it back now.

 “So, what’ve you got for me?”

*

It turns out that getting married does absolutely nothing for Victor's tendency toward impulsiveness. He has an apartment in _St. Petersburg,_ not Moscow, and Yuri ends up having to fast-talk his landlord into renting the odd couple the room next door. At this rate, they'll owe him rather than the other way around. He leaves them to get settled in, pretends not to notice the worry in Yuuri's eyes when he realizes that Yuri's sixteen and living alone in the city.

He does, however, startle awake when he hears banging pots in the kitchen the next morning and comes out to find his new coaches crammed into his small kitchenette, Victor, still half asleep and moaning about coffee, draped over Yuuri as the other man makes pancakes.

Yuri probably would have sworn a lot more if the pancakes aren't a thing. He's an adult, he wants to say. He doesn't need to be babied, especially not by the man-child and the piggy. But the stack of goodies sitting on the plate in front of him smells too damn good – it's almost worth the “secret” smile that Yuuri and Victor exchange almost his head when they think he's not looking.

They head to the rink after that. Yuuri's the practical one in the Katsuki-Nikiforov household, and has apparently gotten a little beat down car since touching down in Russia. He doesn't understand the obsession with old, weary trucks. These are both gold-medalists, world class champions. Surely they can afford a little class. Instead, Yuuri grins and the car sputters into life and they drive down the road at an excruciatingly slow speed, whether that's because the car's shit or Yuuri's driving is. It's not as though they have a choice. Victor's driver's license expires the year he moves to Japan, and Yuri's too young. Yuuri (once again, the practical one in any given situation) is the only one who thinks to apply for an international license.

They get to the rink later than they plan for. Yakov's not happy that he has to share the place with another coach – or rather, a coach duo – but Georgi and Mila don't mind, and it is Yuri's home rink after all.

Yuuri and Victor get set up while he hits the locker room to stretch. Then Yuri straps on his skates and he gets on the ice and nerves are rising in him, unbidden. He does figure eights to warm up, bites down hard on the insides of his cheek. This shouldn't be any different than practice with Yakov and Lilia. After all, Victor's an old geezer, and Yuuri practically worships the hag.

He launches into a jump and lands it.

“So, Yurio,” There's something ominous about Victor's voice as he steps onto the ice as well, and despite the lightness of the tone. Yuuri's sitting in the stands today.

“Well?” Yuri demands, crossing his arms as he pushes his foot in front of him, feeling the scrape of the blade against the ice as he slows to a stop.

They start with the the short program.

It's brutal. Harder than anything he's ever done, because it's Victor and he doesn't believe in doing something if there's no element of surprise. He's heavy-handed with the quads because they're certain Jean Jacques Leroy is competing again this year, and Yuri needs all the points he can get.

Yuri thinks that's just an excuse. Victor's _muse_ , after all, has quite a bit more stamina than Yuri, sixteen years old and definitely underweight, possesses. And Victor is forgetful. Very forgetful.

From the side of the rink, Yuuri throws in suggestions.

Victor watches, appraising, beside him.

It's deja vu. It's Onsen on Ice all over again, flinging himself desperately into the motions, already knowing that it won't be enough.

Yuri strikes the final pose, and nothing is left behind in the silence but his harsh breathing.

It's not enough.

He can tell from the look on Victor's face that it's not enough.

Victor purses his lips. They don't tell him, not yet, even though Yuri wants to scream and tear his hair out with frustration.

Instead, they make him run through his quads. He lands the majority of them. He falls sometimes.

“Why didn't you come to the wedding, Yuri?” Yuuri asks him casually after practice.

Yuri tries not to notice the omitted “o” or how the other man's eyes are filled with something like concern, offers a lazy shrug instead. “I didn't want to see you two being gross.”

“We missed you.”

Yuri laughs.

“No, really.” The Japanese man says.

“Whatever, katsudon.”

*

He tries _Eros_ just once.

He’s alone at the rink. The music echoes in the silence, sounds hollow, almost. He puts his hands above his head. He cocks his hip, moves in lazy circles across the ice. Lands every jump with perfect precision.

He knows that it lacks.

It lacks and it lacks and it lacks and not because there is no one watching but because he knows, with the sinking certainty beginning to settle in the pit in his stomach that it’s not enough. His determination is not enough. His fight is not enough. His rage is not enough.

Love is not won through fighting tooth and nail.

His attempt at _Eros_ is as miserable as his attempt at _Agape_ , and Yuri begins to wonder if he can feel any kind of love at all.

 

 

 


End file.
